


Happy Hunting

by HQK



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: (its the knife), Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood As Lube, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Bratty Reader, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Degrading Language, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knifeplay, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Sex, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Predator/Prey, Rough Sex, Serial Killer!Charlie Barber, Smut, violence against Charlie, violence against reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27772012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQK/pseuds/HQK
Summary: Charlie is branching out, searching for some new hunting spots when he finds the perfect next victim. Soon he decides he wants more than to simply add you to his body count, but murder is tricky and not everything goes as he planned.
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first like actively dark fic so please be warned and mind the tags, it is dead dove. This has been sitting in my docs since October and I’m excited to get it out. There will be a part two to this with way more smut if y’all want it. And of course credit to @direnightshade for coming up with serial killer!Charlie, go check her out! Thanks to @sacklersdoll as well for being an absolute babe and reading over this for me.

He’d been frequenting different bars as of late, branching out into new territory. There were rules to these games, after all—rules to the hunt, rules to keep it sustainable. Charlie knew well by now that staying in the same place for too long would only deplete his selection of targets. And he couldn’t have anyone making connections, so he moved around but always stuck to what he knew. 

That was another rule: never hunt on unfamiliar land. It was just asking for trouble. With such a sensitive, calculated act, one could never afford any random variables. 

This was how he’d been so successful. 

He knew the rules, he played by them and he reaped the rewards. 

And he had just found his next victim. 

You were ordering a drink, lovely figure bent over the bar top while you waited. The curve of your back, exposed by the sheer lack of fabric, and the flicker of your tongue over the rim of the glass told him all he needed to know. 

Yes, you would be a perfect addition to his collection. 

But this was still too new, too fresh. So he settled for watching, memorizing the way your throat moved when you swallowed and the crease of your thighs as you crossed them. His hands itched to spread you apart, see how wet he knew you’d be. Soon, he reminded himself. 

Patience was the mark of a good hunter, and he’d have you in his hands if he simply waited for the most opportune moment. He’d get to watch your throat collapse under his weight and feel the fluttering of your cunt as he fucked you through the fear. 

It would be glorious. 

And well worth the wait. 

* * *

One week later saw him back in the same bar, ordering a drink and watching as you swayed to the soft music playing. He knew you’d be here, Charlie had a sense about these things. 

It helped as well that he’d trailed you to your apartment, curiously far away from this section of the city. But you seemed to spend quite a bit of time in this area. Took walks in the park nearby, and stopped in the odd cafe every so often. Maybe you worked around here, he hadn’t quite figured that out yet. Though, it _had_ only been a week. And where you worked wasn’t all that important to him. 

No, what was important was now. 

Now that he was sipping his Old Fashioned and watching you make eyes at another man across the room. 

He was shorter than Charlie, but not by much. The way he stumbled a bit when crossing the dance floor to you told him your new admirer had more than a bit to drink as well. 

What an amateur. 

You didn’t seem to mind, though, as you guided his hands to your waist and moved your hips with such fluidity, Charlie couldn’t have torn his gaze away if he’d wanted to. This man with his dark hair and hands that engulfed you let you lead him in clumsy circles, trailing like a puppy. 

He was very nearly drooling and you _knew_ it. 

Charlie sneered and nursed his drink, taking it all in. The way your feet avoided being trodden on, the way you pretended not to notice when the man’s hands wandered lower, the way you glanced up through your lashes and smirked when he followed your lips with his. 

All so practiced. 

But the lumbering idiot grabbing handfuls of your ass in front of the whole bar was so _predictable_ , Charlie wasn’t surprised in the least. 

You wouldn’t look so self assured when you were with him. 

Charlie was too full of surprises. 

He was something you’d never encountered before. 

And wouldn’t again, he thought with a chuckle. He’d be your best and your last and that was how it should be. 

Charlie knocked back the last of his drink, setting his glass down on the counter as you led your new find in his obnoxious, neon green sneakers off towards the doors. Your eyes never left the man trailing behind you, locked in place even as you disappeared into the New York night. 

He wouldn’t go after you this time. 

But soon, he thought. Soon those pretty eyes would find him and wouldn’t he be a magnificent last sight?

* * *

Charlie was trying something new again. Dangerous maybe, but progress was never made without taking a few risks. 

So here he was, walking through a park in broad daylight. It was the same one he’d seen you only days before, walking through the canopy of leaves that were so hard to find in the city. There was a bench positioned right under a few limbs that were already shedding red and brown onto the asphalt path. He sat on the cold metal and waited. 

You’d show up momentarily. He had learned you came here around this time in the afternoon during the week. Always dragging your feet through the grass and staring at the sky while you walked the little looping path. Maybe you came for inspiration. It was a nice place to write, he thought. He’d have to bring his notebook next time. 

That could be his keepsake from you, this place. He could come to this bench and sit and remember how you looked scuffing your heels in the dirt, facing up to the heavens. 

Just like you were now. 

Right on time as well. You’d always stuck him as a creature of habit, something he supposed you both had in common. 

Your hands were buried deep in the pockets of your coat, collar turned up against the wind. He watched the subtle shake of your spine, working its way from your head down to your fingers as you shivered in the cold. 

His teeth caught his lip, sucking it between them as he thought of all the ways he could warm you, make your skin sticky with sweat and cum and blood, make you tremble all over again with the pleasure from his cock sinking into your warm, wet cunt. Charlie could quite nearly taste the hazy tang of you on his tongue, feel the way your thighs would tense and pull to pin his head, but he’d want you tied down. He’d need you splayed out and restrained, he could already tell—having only observed you this short time—you’d be a fighter. 

And didn’t that make you the best kind of prey?

He loved it when they fought, when they struggled, when they kicked and spit and bit at his hands. Or when they were so broken, bloody and hopeless and crawling on their knees, scrambling to get away. 

There was something in the way their eyes looked, something primal, like they knew what he was. Like they knew he was a hunter, a predator, and they were trapped under his claws. Wild and insatiable and delicious. 

He was hard in his pants just thinking about it—at the images his mind concocted. You with your sultry hips swaying in the dim bar light and that locked in look in your eyes. You, in that barely there clothing and the set of your jaw that says you’re just begging for him to catch you in his snare. 

He knew you wanted it, even if you didn’t quite yet. 

Charlie’s hand dropped down to palm at his throbbing length, his long coat covering most of the movement. It was cool enough that no one else but the two of you had wondered out this late in the day. So he brushed over the sensitive head of his cock and watched you making circles around the path until you stopped. 

That was new. That was a break in the pattern, and it made his hand pause. 

You froze and planted your feet on the earth, staring intently into a little copse of trees and shrubs. The barrier of leaves formed a small hidden space that you slip into easily, practiced and lithe like a cat weaving through iron bars. He could only catch glimpses of your face from between the branches, tilted up with eyes closed. 

You looked alive, that was really the only way he could put it. Charlie watched as the shadow of your body lowered itself onto the cold dirt and breathed in the scent of the dying foliage. Under the curve of the roots he could see it: your face scrunched up, lips parted, plump and bitten with your chin tilted back towards the sky. 

He couldn’t look away from the strange display. 

Couldn’t help but feel like he knew the look on your face. 

* * *

This time, running into you really was an accident. 

He was just stopping for coffee, on his way to work and rushing. Traffic was bad, but it was his turn to run for drinks and there would be an uproar if he showed up empty handed. And there you were, headphones in and seated right by one of the windows in the little cafe. 

Your face was half lit by the laptop screen you were leaning over. Writing, he supposed based on the way your fingers flew across the keys. So nimble, he thought, how skilled those hands must be. How lovely they’d look wrapped around his dick, lips spilling drool and split open— 

“What can I get started for you today?” the barista asked. 

Charlie’s head whipped back around to the overly cheery face behind the counter. He frowned, throwing glances back at you while he rattled off his list of orders. 

“Alrighty, can I get a name for the order?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw your fingers still on the keys, “Charlie is fine.” 

“Great, I’ll get that out for you as soon as I can.” 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, tucking his wallet away and moving to lean against the far wall. 

From here he could look at you head on while everyone else would simply assume he was staring out the window, watching the way today’s light drizzle had doused the city in sepia grayscale lighting. You had gone back to typing, foot tapping on the rough wood floors. He studied your legs, the way they bounced to whatever rhythm was playing in your ears. 

They’d look good shaking, he thought, crawling breathlessly away and scrambling against the cool tile of his kitchen. 

What a joy it was to see you so unexpectedly. Certainly one of the better parts of this morning, even if it was a bit strange as well. This part of the city was a considerable distance from your apartment building. Maybe you liked the shop too, stumbled across it the way his crew had and been drawn in by the aesthetics and quiet atmosphere. Charlie didn’t have many regular stomping grounds but this place was one of them. 

If he was a better man, he might have taken you to coffee here, participated in banal small talk and gotten to know your favorite authors, where you worked and what a creature like you did there. If you hated your boss, if you were quiet about it, if you sent emails with exclamation points to seem friendly and non-confrontational. 

But this was sort of like a date. He had learned something new about you every time, even if you weren’t aware of it. In time, he’d learn even more, see all of you. See what you looked like in your purest form—primal fear in your eyes and blood on your lips. 

And you would get to know about him as well, in time. He’d show you everything, all of it. 

With every new meeting, the feeling grew stronger. 

This wasn’t just about the kill anymore. 

You would be the one, Charlie knew it in his gut. Different from the others who fell so witlessly into his trap, took the bait and barely had the wherewithal to even struggle as he reeled them in. They were dead fish on his hook, limp and rotting before he could drag them to shore. 

But not you. 

You were alive and kicking and _perfect._

You would be so good for him. 

“Charlie!” the barista called, breaking him from his reverie. 

As he swooped in to grab the two drink trays and hurried back out into the rain, he stole one last glance in your direction. 

Silhouetted by an errant ray of sunlight, you struck an immaculate picture. So much so that he missed the way your eyes trailed him out the door, catching on the edge of his coat and following him out into the gloom of the New York streets. 

But he was too busy engraving the image of your slightly curved spine, the arch of your shoulders and neck, to notice your stare on him all the way down the block until he melted into the background of the city. 

* * *

It was late and Charlie felt worn thin. The subway platform was crowded as always, despite the hour encroaching closely on midnight. They really were true, all those awful cliches about how the city never sleeps. 

He sighed, moved farther to the tile wall so he could avoid being tossed into the tracks by the rustling of passersby. There were dozens of people shuffling around on their tired feet, bitching about any number of things or playing music too loud. The smell of stale piss and the bleach public transit staff used to mask it was even stronger after the rain. Charlie wrinkled his nose against the onslaught and watched the westbound train come and go, rattling like a bull down the tracks and sweeping away passengers as it went. A slip of paper from the wall fluttered off in the draft and settled in a puddle on the ground. 

And a familiar face stared up at him. 

Large black text framed the photo. “MISSING” it read in all caps that quickly dissolved in the New York rain water. Rain here had a tendency to wash away everything just when he needed it the most. He reminisced about the way her blood had slipped down the sewer grates so easily, leaving his shoes free of any evidence. 

She had been particularly sloppy—not something to be proud of—but Charlie was nothing if not adaptive.

He learned from his mistakes.

His eyes flicked over the subway wall and was met with a plethora of blank xerox faces staring back. Most were young, photos taken from cell phones with lips stretched wide and smiling. There were more than a few men as well. Those he did not recognize, with dark hair and dark eyes, and arrogance clear even in pictures. Some of the others he did know, with softer looks—he always had a weak spot for faces like that. 

But they were nothing like you. Besides, all that pretty had melted away so quickly under the knife. And you would be different. 

You would bear him well. 

You would look so pretty hanging from the subway walls, grinning out from the tile or the occasional telephone pole. Charlie didn’t think he’d mind it much if someone made a poster for you. That way he’d get a pleasant surprise while walking down the city streets when he was coming home late like this and had been away from you for too long. 

It had been so long since he’d seen you last. Opening night was quickly approaching and work had been taking up far too much time. It had gotten to the point that he saw your face in every crowd. Walking from the station to his apartment he’d see you in the figures smoking on a neighboring balcony or in the cereal aisle at the grocery store or mingling with the backstage crew out behind the theater. 

And now as well.

In the crowd, peeking out from behind one of the dusty, graffiti-covered columns, he swore that were standing—the curve of your back, the set of your shoulders, the lock of your jaw. Charlie’s feet moved without his noticing, carrying him towards you. 

In the distance, the northbound train was approaching, he could feel the rumble of it in his bones as he pushed and maneuvered a trail through the crowd, but you were still slipping away. Faster than him and smaller, weaving easily through bystanders without notice. 

The train rushed past him, blowing locks of hair into his face that whipped at his eyes and forced him to stop. He cursed under his breath, raking a hand through his hair and trying to catch sight of you again. Though as he looked closer, the figure retreating was just another faceless traveler, their gate was similar but not quite the same, steps too short and heavy. 

Charlie felt scoffed at himself, at the shameless desperation, and allowed the tide of people to sweep him into the train compartment. 

His hand gripped the standing rail hard in a fist and his eyes stared out onto the platform, tiled wall of monochrome faces staring back. He looked out until it disappeared as the subway roared down the tracks once again and left them all behind. 

* * *

He was finally here. 

Finally after weeks of rehearsals running into the small hours of the morning and a mess of late night dinners, rounds of drinks with cast mates, he was _finally_ here. 

In your bar, watching you dance again in the dim light. 

Charlie would never tire of the sight, the way you moved to the music was addicting in its own right. He’d only just wandered in less than an hour ago, ordered his usual and taken a seat at the bar. From here he had the perfect view, the door was behind him so escape was simple and you were visible just across the table top, swaying to the soft beat. 

He wanted so badly to devour you. 

It was a hunger the likes of which he had never known. It made him reckless, excited him as nothing had in so long. He’d always heard hunters talk about their most prized prey. Seen the massive antlers hung on walls in sets and in film, and he understood it now. You were a trophy, a wonder of nature and he would be the one to win you. 

Keep you in your own trophy room for him to see you dance like that whenever he wanted. 

There were not many people tonight, so you were still swaying alone, not having found a partner yet for the night as you had done before. 

Charlie was stuck on the way your jugular was highlighted amongst the shadows of neon lights when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He was nearly blinded by the bright white screen as he read the notification for an incoming call from his stage manager. 

Shit.

He left his drink at the bar and stepped away for a moment, to the corner farther from the speakers and swiped to answer. She sounded frantic, muttering and hard to hear over the music. His supporting actress had broken her wrist from what he was able to gather, an understudy was being arranged. He huffed and thanked her, asking to be kept updated and saying that no, he absolutely could not give his input at this very moment, he was, in fact, preoccupied. 

When she finally consented to calling back later, he turned and immediately stopped in his tracks. You were there, standing at the bar right next to his abandoned seat and staring right into his eyes. There was a subtle smile playing at your lips, and you rested an elbow on the counter, never breaking your gaze as he slowly walked back. 

Had he been caught? 

Charlie cleared his throat and cursed his racing heart. A sweaty palm combed through his hair as joined you at the bar. Your smile only grew. 

“Mind if I join you?”

He nearly choked on his spit. 

“No, of course not,” he grabbed his glass and you clinked yours against the rim. 

You both sipped, and he tried not to stare too long at how your arms looked resting on the wood. This was...not something he had anticipated. But leave it to you to surprise him. 

“Do you come here often?” you asked, swirling the liquor in your cup. 

Odd that you hadn’t asked his name, but then again, he hadn’t bothered to ask yours either. He knew the constants and vowels of it by heart. 

“I wouldn’t say often,” he shrugged and took a long drink, something to numb him a bit and calm the shaking in his hands. “Only when it’s convenient.” 

“It’s nice here,” you said. “I like the crowd.” 

“Yeah?” Charlie didn’t know how to reply. He hadn’t expected to actually speak with you so soon. 

“No one really comes in to talk, if you know what I mean.” You pulled your lip between your teeth and nibbled at it. 

He could feel his cock twitch in his jeans at the way you bit at the flesh. 

“Is that so,” he mused. 

The look you gave him was succulent, mouthwatering and exquisite, “Wanna dance?”

He shouldn’t. It wasn’t time. There was an order to these things, there were rules and this was breaking them but, oh fuck you just kept looking at him and he was going to drown in how good it was. Charlie downed the rest of his drink and let you take his hand, pulling him slowly into the crowd of other dancers. Just as he had watched you do a dozen times, like he fantasized you’d to do with him. 

Dancing was never really his thing but when you placed his big palms on your hips and let him feel you sway, his feet found their place. You turned in his grip—back to his chest and ass pressed to his front—and _moved_. 

His vision tunneled. Homing in until the room melted away and there was nothing but your body and his hands. 

* * *

The streets were dark and empty, but your hand was so scaldingly hot in his that Charlie barely noticed. 

_“Do you wanna go back to mine?”_

Your voice rang out in his head. The music and the lights were brighter and louder and everything grew hazy the longer he touched you. 

God, he shouldn’t. 

It wasn’t time and hunting had rules but…

But this could be good. Go back to your place, learn the way in, maybe where you keep your keys, the door code and placement of security cameras—make it much easier on himself further down the line when you were ready. When he could take you. 

There were leaves crunching under his feet and the night seemed to grow darker and darker as you led him forward. 

“We can cut through here,” you said, turning to flash him another smile, tugging at his arm and making him stumble. 

He was losing track of where his limbs existed in space, strange since he’d only had the one drink. His eyes were dry trying to adjust to the pitch blackness he was so unused to. It never got this dark in the city, too much light pollution but there were barely any shadows here, too far away from the bustling center of town. 

Something cold and metal brushed his thigh as he followed you deeper into the darkness and towards the twinkling street lamps in the distance. 

The bench, he realized, where he sat and observed you walking your circles. 

This was the park. 

The copse of trees was just ahead. 

Charlie knew where you lived, somewhere far into midtown and not near here. Something unfamiliar was taking over him. His mouth felt thick, his face beaded with sweat and his chest was growing tighter by the minute. This was wrong, he should go, but his legs were like lead and as much as he tried to wrench his hand from your grip...he couldn’t. 

The shrubs caught on his pants as you yanked hard on his arm and sent him tumbling forward into the dirt. He tried to catch himself, but his arms stayed limp at his sides. Face down, he landed with earth and dried leaves sticking to his cheeks. Your weight settled on top of him, thighs gripping his hips and hands planted on either side of his head. 

“You bitch,” he gasped into the ground. “What did you give me?” 

“It’s nothing you’re unfamiliar with,” your breath was so hot on his ear, tongue flicking out to lick up the shell of it and bite down hard on the lobe. 

“You fucking _whore_ ,” Charlie hissed, trying to throw you off. He wanted to pin you down, fuck the plans he’d choke you out right here, right now. Wrap his big hands around your throat and watch you claw and grasp at him— 

You were supposed to be perfect. 

Supposed to be his. 

Your nails skimmed up his scalp, grabbing a handful of his hair and jerking it back. His neck strained as you pressed your cheek to his, other hand coming to cup his jaw harshly. 

“Listen to me you arrogant piece of shit,” you snarled, no honey sweetness dripping from your lips now. He still wanted desperately to taste them. “I’m assuming you're new to this game so let me explain some things to you. Now be a good boy and listen, yeah?” 

Charlie tried to shake his head from your grip, work your fingers into his mouth and bite but your hand slipped to his throat and tightened just enough to restrict the blood pulsing through his carotid. He stilled, pursing his lips and nodded.

“Much better,” you whispered. He could only make out the blur of your face from his peripheral, feel the heat of your skin pressed to his. “There is one rule and only one to this dance of ours, do you know what it is?” 

He grit his teeth, silent until your nails ripped into his hair again and he groaned as the strands separated from his scalp

“Why don’t you tell me,” he bit the ‘t’ and waited. 

“You never shoot another hunter, dumbass,” you spat. “You make sure whatever the fuck you go after it isn’t wearing a bright orange fucking vest.” 

“What?” he was panting now, the ground fading in and out as his vision went dark. 

“Did you know prey animals never have forward facing eyes?” you stroked a finger down the bridge of his nose. “Cause they’re always looking out, always watching the horizon for predators and the sign of a good predator is that we never let them catch us.”

Charlie’s neck grew weaker, the only thing holding him up was your hands on his throat and buried in his silky hair. 

“So the next time you go scoping for your next pretty young thing to kill, make sure it can’t look you in both eyes.” 

“You, you’re—” his speech was slurred, the words tumbling out in a jumble. 

Is this what they felt like? All the others when he was tying them down and preparing for the slaughter. 

“Yeah. So next time you think about branching out, don’t,” you let his head drop to the dirt and pressed his nose into the soil. 

This is where you took yours. That man with the neon sneakers. When laid here, when he watched you breath in the earth. This is where you came to remember. 

“These are my grounds, so stay the fuck off of them,” you slid off his back, pressing a knee into his hip and pushing so he flopped over limply on the leaf litter. “I won’t be so nice next time.” 

He watched blearily as you leaned over him, settling back and straddling his lap. You rocked your hips once lazily against his cock, still half hard and tenting in his jeans. “Pity I’m letting you go, you’re exactly my type.” 

Charlie swallowed, tongue like chalk as the world faded out around him. You leaned in close, patting his cheek twice and chuckling. It was so dark in this part of New York, he could actually see the stars as you shifted away and sauntered off into the night. Your parting words echoed in his head as he stared, immobile, up at the night sky.

“Happy hunting, Charlie.” 


	2. Large Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie Barber is not a man who is easily swayed by failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags y'all, it's about to get bloody.

You were dancing again.

He could just make out the familiar movement of your hips, the way they swayed to a song he couldn’t hear. It was the same half-salsa feet-forward, hands beckoning him further into your coils—ready to wind him up in a vice grip and strike. 

Charlie hadn’t been back to the bar—your bar, as you’d said. Your bar, _your_ territory. No, he had been good, stayed off your hunting grounds ever since he woke up nearly frozen to a concerned police officer prodding him with a nightstick. So, he kept his distance from that section of the city, but he couldn’t quite manage to keep his distance from you. 

It was even colder now with winter in full swing, and the harsh wind, tunneled by the city grids, beat at his back. Your street was small—quiet but not enough that he’d seem out of place leaning on the corner just out of range of the streetlights. Through your third story window he watched as you moved, staying just within the frame like it was a spotlight. Like this was just another performance and the stage notes placed you front and center for the whole of New York to see. 

Well, maybe not the whole city, he thought when you pushed the curtains open. 

He followed the movement of your hands, cracking the window despite the chill and letting some of the music drift down to him. It was soft, but familiar with a good beat. None of the crap that played when he drank and watched you stalk the small, neon lit dance floor for fresh meat. 

_“Did you know that prey animals never have forward facing eyes?”_

He recalled more of that night than he expected too. And in particularly vivid detail, he remembered your voice. The growl of it, the power, the ‘I’d rip your throat out with my teeth and love every second of it’ snarl in his ear. 

God what he wouldn’t give to hear it lilted and pitched high, whining with your hands clawing at his— 

Charlie felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. 

It was familiar by now. You usually caught him—or at the very least he usually noticed when you did. A shiver ran through him every time you picked him out of the surroundings and pinned him with that predatory gaze that said ‘I see you.’ 

And you did. 

You did see him, not just lurking in the dark on your corner, but you saw him. Saw the creature that lurked and festered behind his mask and understood it. That is why he had to keep coming back. Had to keep watching you dance from your bedroom window like a one person stage play, and he was the only one in the audience that _got it_. But really, who could blame him?

It wasn’t often one meets another of their kind and lives through it. 

So Charlie came every night he could manage it, ever since you left him drugged and cold in that park with its circle path like a black hole. And he knew you watched him too. 

He _was_ your type after all. 

It was so obvious once he thought it over, he almost kicked himself for missing it. You’d just been so distracting. All those men, tall with their dark hair and dark eyes and not nearly as handsome as him but close enough. None of them had ever walked away. But you took him to your graveyard, pressed him into the killing floor and…let him go. 

There was desire in the way you’d ground yourself against him—a craving he knew all too well would not be shaken. 

You slipped once, and you would do it again. He could feel it. And when you did... 

The fallout would be delicious. 

* * *

Slipping in was easy enough. Your lovely elderly neighbor was more than willing to buzz in ‘such a nice young man’ as it were, and your name was printed clearly along the mail slots with your unit number conveniently displayed adjacent. 

That was quite the oversight. 

You were at work, he’d taken off a day last week to trail you into the city center. The office building you worked in was a few train rides away and Charlie knew you wouldn’t be back until late that evening. Which left him plenty of time to get to know you a bit better. 

Now, Charlie liked to think of himself as a man of skill. Maybe he’d underestimated you at the start, allowed his judgment to be clouded by fantasies of you, restrained and begging, gushing wet and ready to take him like no one else ever could. But after his last encounter, he’d grown sharper. 

Anyway, he’d been right all along. 

You would be so much more than a trophy. 

But there was only so much he could learn from the few hours between rehearsals, hopping from train to train, and following you like a lost dog. He needed more than that, more than sitting outside your workplace or cafés. He needed you, all of you, and he suspected you needed him as well. 

Why else would you have left him breathing?

Gaining back a bit of high ground would be necessary, though. You knew he was watching, and seemed to like it a little too much. All of this was a show to you, a character, a role, but Charlie needed to know about the actor. The hunter. And what better way to do that than to learn how you lived when no one was watching. 

Or, when you _thought_ no one was watching. 

He climbed the narrow staircase to the third floor and found your door at the end of the hall. The lock was easy enough to pick and these older buildings never had security cameras. So when the door clicked open, he stepped in and shut it behind him without an eye batted in his direction. 

Your apartment was neat, but in a lived-in sort of way. There were dishes in the sink and some clothes strewn about the floor of the hall and piled on the small sofa, but overall it looked exceedingly...normal. 

To be fair, Charlie’s place was just as unassuming and far less homely than this, so his shock was probably unwarranted. 

He wandered through your kitchen first. A mug sat on the counter, still lukewarm and half full from your breakfast he supposed. So you left in a rush. That seemed to suit you, always moving, The clothes on the sofa were separated into piles, lights and darks ready to be laundered. 

His hands sifted through the mounds of soft fabric, lifting shirts and such to his face every so often to catch your scent. But it was mostly overpowered by perfume or soap until his hands felt strapy lace and pulled and that oh, that was what you smelled like. Tangy and sweet and making his mouth water. His jeans grew tight as he thought briefly about laying amongst your laundry, enveloped by the heady scent of you. 

He could push the lace of your panties between his lips and suck hard, taste the remnants of your slick on his tongue, imagine your thighs were pressed against his ears. Conjure up the feeling of your knees at his back again and let the adrenaline course through him while he stroked himself. 

While equal parts enraging, that night was the closest to ecstasy Charlie could recall. The weight of you, settled in his lap and grinding on his cock, while he could barely lift a finger was a rush unlike any other. 

Suddenly he understood the allure of big game hunting. 

You were his bear, his wolf, his lion, every dangerous thing that could rip him apart and fuck. Even getting close enough to land a shot now was invigorating. 

That meant he had to be especially cautious, though. There could be no more mistakes this time. No more strings left untied or your claws would be at his throat again and he doubted his chances of survival the second time around. But, that didn’t mean he couldn’t reward himself just a bit. Just getting this far was quite the accomplishment. So, he tucked the underwear into his back pocket and moved swiftly through the rest of your home. 

The bathroom was uneventful and your hall closet held nothing but sheets and towels. There was nothing left then but your bedroom at the end of the hall. He let the door creak open slowly, revealing a sizable bed graced by natural light from the window. The very same one he’d watched you through for weeks. It felt odd to be on the other side of it. 

Your drawers yielded nothing of particular interest, though the closet was much less disappointing. On a shelf sat a bin peeking out from in between spare blankets. He tugged it down and cracked the lid, grinning when it finally dawned on him what exactly he’d discovered. 

In his hand Charlie held one familiar, hideously neon green sneaker. So that’s what had become of your unfortunate first dance partner. It was intermixed with multitudes of other innocuous items. Some wallets, car keys, rings, and gloves were all folded and stacked with precision. Most were clearly men’s, and all were meticulously organized. 

He chuckled, looking down at your trophy case. Keepsakes, he guessed, from all your former conquests. He wondered if you took them all to that park, or if it was new. Wondered if you left them all to freeze and be found by unsuspecting passersby. 

Charlie was so entranced by this new information, that he failed to hear the front door drift slowly open. Never heard the soft steps of your feet on the hardwood, nor the drag of the knife from it’s butcher block. In fact, it wasn’t until the chill ran down his spine, gooseflesh erupting across his arms in a wave, did he pause. 

“Hello, Charlie,” you mused from behind him. 

The sound of your voice was like a cracking stick in the woods at night. A pair of glowing eyes in the glare of a flashlight. Ominous and growing closer. His breath froze in his chest as he rose carefully up from the floor and turned. 

* * *

It was quite the sight:

You—shoulders relaxed and leaned against the doorframe, lips pulled into that mixed drink expression he’d grown to crave. One part grin, three parts wolfish snarl. Your finger was placed gently at the tip of a sizable carving knife, the other hand gripped tightly just below the bolster. 

Charlie towered over you, but in that moment he felt dwarfed standing in your bedroom and staring at you down his nose. 

He said nothing and you dropped the blade to your side. 

“I thought we talked about this,” your voice echoed. “Seems like you did a piss poor job of listening.”

Slowly you took one step then another, until you stood only a foot or so away and your chin was tipped up to maintain your gaze. Charlie’s hands were curled into fists at his sides. You were supposed to be on your way to work, boarding the E train by now seated or standing next to the door so you could make it onto the platform before the incoming crowd. You shouldn’t have returned until late tonight. 

Late tonight when you would have undressed and he could have seen the silhouette of your body through the sheer curtains. Could have locked the memory away for later and stroked himself off into the new panties in his pocket. 

That was your pattern. Those were your rules. 

Why would you break them now?

“Then again, I suppose the stereotypes ring true,” you said and grinned up at him. “Directors aren’t very good at taking orders.”

Charlie’s eyes widened and your smile grew. 

“Did you think you were the only one doing _research_?”

“I’m impressed you found the time,” he mumbled into the closing space between your chests. 

“It comes with experience,” you breathed across his lips. 

His gaze was locked on you, but he made sure to keep the knife in your hand within view. Charlie was larger and he guessed he’d have little problem restraining you, but now was not the time to be taking chances. 

You lifted the weapon slowly, trailing it up his chest and letting it catch on the buttons of his shirt. His hand was fast, moving on instinct and engulfing your wrist so that the tip of the blade rested right in the dip of his collarbone. The cool metal left a trail of tingling skin behind. His cock throbbed in his pants as your tongue flicked out to wet your lips. 

“Don’t worry, Mr. Barber,” you brought your empty hand up to pat his cheek once again. “You can always learn from your mistakes.” 

He grunted when you wound back suddenly and landed a sharp kick to his shin. In the scrabble you wrenched your wrist from his grip, slicing into his forearm before he could regain his balance. 

“Fuck!” he hissed, pressing a hand to the wound. “You— _god_ — you bitch.”

From the corner of his eye Charlie watched your circle to the left, “Now now, I don’t think your son would appreciate that kind of language.” 

A sharp, stinging pain was radiating from his arm and his hands shook with the adrenaline and its accompanying rage. 

“You need to shut your fucking mouth,” Charlie growled and pounced at you, catching your hand as it brought the knife down in an arch towards his chest.

“What, are you gonna make me?” you jeered and tried to twist your hand away but his thumb dug into the pounding veins just below the skin of your wrist. You cried out and he caught the movement before you could land another kick. 

You let out a muffled yell when he gripped your thigh and yanked you off your feet. The blade clattered from your hand as you crashed to the floor as Charlie felt a familiar rush at seeing you, dazed and limp below him. Quickly he snatched the knife and pulled you up by your arm. Your hands were clutching at the back of your head where it had smashed against the hardwood and your eyes were unfocused. He shoved you towards the bed even as you tried to blindly scratch at his face. 

His hand wound around your throat as your back hit the mattress and you clawed at his fingers. 

“Not so talkative now are you?” he snarled against your lips, bringing the blade up to rest at your throat. “Little whore needs her prey drugged up and half dead before she can strike? Some fucking _hunter_ you are.”

You squirmed as Charlie squeezed just enough to stop the blood flowing in your neck, watching your face contort with the pain and the loss of breath. 

“Kiss. My. Ass,” you spat with what little air you could gasp. 

He straddled your body easily, so much smaller now that you were pinned under his fist. The knife bit into you, sending pretty beads of scarlet down your bare chest. The tip dug just past the skin. He loved that sight, the way your skin yielded to the metal and parted at just the lightest pressure. The noise that left you when he first breached your flesh was almost as delicious as what he imagined you’d sound like when he sunk his cock into you. 

Very nearly moaning at the sight, dragging the blade down leaving a shallow stripe that stopped just between your breasts. You stilled, wincing but licking your lips once again as his eyes trailed up the cut and met yours. The deeper slice on his forearm was dripping a slow, steady stream into the hollow of your throat that spilled out around his fingers and ran down your chest. 

Charlie watched, entranced as your blood mingled and his pants tented. He dragged the hand at your neck through the mess. The smell of iron was thick in the air, and his own blood rushed. His ears were ringing, your bedroom fading out until all he could focus on was the pounding of your pulse under his palm and the heaving of your breasts as you gasped for breath. 

His grip on your throat loosened. There was something happening, something coming over him as your eyes roamed his face, stuttering at his lips and traveling back to meet his stare. Time had stopped, and he was reminded again of how alluring you were. 

How had he forgotten?

The same grace that he’d been drawn to was evident in the slow movement of your arm, moving to softly grip the knife in his hand and gently push it to the side. Charlie let you move the blade from your throat. 

It was hours maybe, or just seconds that you both stared, bleeding, at one another. It was a standoff, the tension growing with each passing moment. The rolls had finally been reversed. You were right where he had fantasized you would be for so long, but there was still something in the way you gazed at him.

Head on, eyes forward. 

Predator eyes. 

And that had to be what all the others were missing. 

That spark. That fight. The sharp teeth, eyes locked, ready to tear into his neck stare that made the catch so much more exciting. 

The others were nothing compared to this. 

This is why he needed you alive, wanted you kicking. Wanted you screaming and crying and moaning for him. On his fingers, on his cock, on his blade. Fuck, he wanted to be buried in you and it didn’t matter which way. 

He needed to taste his victory, and it seemed so did you. 

“Shit,” he breathed as you lifted the knife from his hand and placed the tip just above his belt, slashing his shirt open by the buttons one at a time until it hung loose around his shoulders.

“You want to hunt, Charlie Barber?” you asked slowly, and—fucking christ—that voice did something to him. His breathing came in pants as you pulled his hand from your throat and wrapped it around the knife handle, placing the tip at the hem of your top. “Let’s hunt.” 

Charlie growled, really truly growled as your shirt tore easily in the path of the blade. It fell open, exposing your skin to the cool air as a new trickle of blood leaked down the valley of your breasts and rolled in rivulets down your ribs. 

His mouth _watered_. 

Placing his hands on either side of your head, he lowered his head and followed the trail of blood with his tongue. Groaning as the sharp, iron tang of it coated his mouth but the sound caught in his throat as you surged forward. Your teeth dug into the meat of his shoulder, very nearly breaking the skin and laving over the angry red mark you left behind. 

“Do you always taste yours?” you asked, nudging his nose with yours. 

Charlie leaned back on his heels as you sat up. He rested half his weight in your lap as you tugged the remains of his shirt off and trailed your fingers along the edge of the slice you’d left in him. The sting of it awoke something, some ache, an itch that was never quite satisfied with any of his other prey. 

“I asked you a question,” you lifted your hand, two fingers coated red and pressed them to his lips. 

When he opened his mouth to answer, your fingers slipped inside and dragged along his tongue.

“Yes,” he muttered

“Hm,” you bit your lip bottom lip and he wanted to replace your teeth with his. “Well then, how do I compare?”

He let you pull him down by his jaw, “I don’t think I’ve had quite enough to tell you.” 

The mattress dipped when he pulled away and stood. You watched carefully—eyes flicking between his hands, his face, and the obvious bulge of his arousal—as Charlie brought the knife up and trailed the point along the fabric covering your pussy. The quick breath that left you made him shutter. 

He glanced back up at you, and nodded his head to the buckle of your pants. A few seconds past in which the two of you stood your ground—a stalemate between alpha’s—until, shockingly, you relented with a huff. 

Charlie kept his eyes on your face until the last of your clothing thumped softly on the floor. Bare and decorated with drying trails of blood, you laid back and let your legs fall open slowly, giving him a full view of your glistening lips. 

It was unlike anything he’d seen before or even dared to imagine. 

His mind raced through dozens of images just like the scene before him. But when he thought of all those before you, looking down on them was more akin to staring at a piece of meat. They were no more entertaining than a chuck roast, flopping about and whimpering. Even when they begged or screamed it felt nothing like this. 

You were a cut steak in the same way that a dream was reality. He could treat it as such, but it would never be true. 

It occurred to him then that until now, he had been much like a beast in an empty cage—pacing and yearning for some kind of challenge, something more stimulating than prey that couldn’t bite back. And you were exactly what he’d been waiting for all this time. 

Slowly, you drew your fingers through the mess pooling between your breasts and brought them, dripping, down to draw bloody circles over your clit. 

“Well, why don’t you taste a little more?”

* * *

Charlie was uncertain how long he’d been on his knees, your ass sat on the edge of the bed as he sucked and nipped at your clit, drinking down the slick that gushed from you. Regardless, it was long enough to have reduced you to what he assumed was the closest you would ever come to a writhing mess on the mattress above him. 

“Fucking Christ,” you groaned and raked your nails harshly against his scalp.

He hummed as the sting intensified with your fingers knotting themselves in his hair and tugging. Your thighs tensed, slamming shut around his ears until he wrenched them open again and continued to run his tongue in slow circles over the nub, pulling it between his teeth every so often just to hear the catch in your breath when he did. Charlie had yet to even delve his fingers inside of you, and he could sense your growing impatience. 

But every new gushing of your cunt flooded his mouth mixing with the blood on his tongue and clouding his thoughts in a tangy, metallic haze. 

Shit, he’d decided the second he licked his first, long stripe up your pussy that he would never taste anything more delectable. If he ever got caught—which was incredibly unlikely—but if he was, his last meal would be to bury himself between your legs and drink until they took him away. 

The only thing that dragged him back into the world outside of his mouth on your lips was the sharp smack of your hand against his temple. You yanked his head back and growled down at him. 

“Don’t forget who you’re toying with, Mr. Barber,” you hissed. 

Charlie couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his cheeks, “Trust me, I’m well versed in dealing with desperate whores.”

He caught the beginning of your lunge before your back left the bed. His passive palm slammed down onto your chest, smearing a handprint on the bloody skin and effectively pinning you on the bed. God, he had come close to cumming in his pants a few times since the start of your little game, but the sight of his hand encompassing the swell of flesh at the top of your breasts nearly brought him to his breaking point. 

“Well,” you gasped and hooked your legs around his waist, rocking his aching cock between your folds, “luckily, so am I.” 

Charlie grunted and felt himself start to boil over. Even through the rough fabric of his pants, your pussy was so incredibly warm and wet he had to wrench himself away. And then you were laughing, the chuckle building low in your gut and working its way out to grate his ears, make his face burn and his hands curl into fists. 

“I think you would do well not to forget who you’re toying with, either,” he snapped, dragging you again to the edge of the bed and retrieving the knife he’d discarded on the floor. 

“What do you think you’re—”

He cut you off, as he flipped the blade into palm and ran the pommel against your entrance, nudging your clit again, “You want something inside this fucking cunt so bad, I’m going to give it to you.” 

The sharp metal bit into his hand as he plunged its hilt all the way into the bolster. The cry that left you, half sob, half choked relief at finally being filled seeped into his veins and spread like venom. 

“You, son— _fuck_ —son of a bitch,” you moaned as he pumped the knife handle harshly into your soaking cunt. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

Charlie’s hand dropped to the zipper of his pants, hastily unfastening the clasps and pulling his dick, raging hard and flushed red from the confines of his underwear. It slapped against the skin of his stomach and left a trail of precum behind. As he fucked you on the knife, angling the hooked end so that it stroked your upper walls, he roughly fisted his length. His hips bucked up into his dry palm but the friction was nowhere close to what he needed. 

He wanted your hot, wet, pussy to clench around him so he could mark you with his cum and his teeth and make you his. 

But he couldn’t give in so quickly. 

The second he relented to those base instincts, you would have won, and Charlie couldn’t have you gaining any more leverage than you already had. 

So instead, he let his cock go excruciatingly untouched and reached up to knead your breasts. Your nipples peaked under his fingers and he rolled one between them, listening to the whining in your throat as he pinched the stiff flesh. He almost lost himself entirely in the wonder of your softness, the way you yielded and shaped to fit in his palm. 

Without much thought he arched up, mouthing across your tits and sucking hungrily at the nipple. When Charlie drew back, your skin was shiny with his spit and the blood still oozing out and collecting in the dip of your chest. Entranced, smeared his palm through the sticky, warm pool and coated his palm. He brought it down, jerking his cock once again and the sweet, hot slide of his blood covered hand was enough. 

“You like it?” he mumbled, growing more incoherent by the minute. “Such a fucking slut, I’m going to ruin this pussy, you know that right?”

You kept your mouth shut, but through the haze of pleasure and pain, you managed to fix him with another bone-shattering stare. 

“You’re going to take my cock and no one else will ever be good enough when I’m done with you,” he was rambling now, fucking his hand and your cunt with his face in your tits. 

Charlie didn’t believe in a god, but right now—he certainly felt like one. 

“Admit it,” he snarled, “we’re the same.” 

His hips came to a stuttering halt, thumb teasing at his cockhead before letting go completely to press hard at your clit again. “None of those assholes you picked up ever satisfied you, I know they didn’t.” 

“You’re right,” your words were so quiet he almost missed them entirely. 

He never relented on your clit of the hand driving the knife’s hilt impossibly deep into your cunt, but he did raise his head from your breasts to hover over your face. 

“What was that,” he asked in a whisper. 

It suddenly felt incredibly wrong to speak any louder. 

Your face was twisted in pain of admittance and the release that he’d kept you on the brink of for so long, “You’re right, nothing was ever enough.” 

_Until him._

You didn’t say it, but he knew that was what you meant. 

And then Charlie Barber was kissing you. His lips were on yours in an instant and it was all teeth and tongue and battling for dominance which developed quickly into a truce of sorts.

Neither of you were better than the other. 

Just two sides of the same monster. 

You moaned, deep and low into his mouth, licking past his lips to trace the crooked edges of his teeth. He hoped you could taste yourself on his tongue. 

Below, you were rocking your hips now, meeting each thrust of the knife. He could feel the tension on every backstroke as your walls clenched tighter against the hilt. 

He wanted to see you cum so desperately. He needed to know what you looked like in the throes of bliss that only he could bring you. So, he tore his lips from yours and watched as your back arched into his chest and you threw your head back choking as your pussy clamped around the unforgiving handle while the orgasm washed over you. 

There was a moment of silence as you both panted and twitched and revealed in the incredible satisfaction of finally, finally finding your equal—your match. But then your eyes were locking onto his face again and he felt the familiar predatory urge to **_bitesuckpouncepound_** once more. 

The following seconds were a flurry of movement. 

Charlie ripped the knife from your cunt and let it clatter to the floor as you latched onto his neck and sucked hard. In the midst of the tangle of arms and limbs his pants were fully abandoned and he crawled over your body, sitting back against the headboard and dragging you into his lap. 

You pulled back, foreheads resting together and both looking down to his cock. Coated in a slick of blood and precum that leaked steadily from the tip, it was nestled between your bodies and twitched with every rapid beat of his heart. 

Ever so slowly, your eyes drifted back to meet and he swallowed thickly before your mouths were crashing together again. Time was irrelevant as your bodies moved incomprehensibly fast, aching to be joined and satisfied. 

“Take me,” he groaned into your mouth, sucking on your tongue and releasing it with a pop. 

Thankfully, you just nodded. No smartass quip, no talking back. 

The knowledge that you needed this just as much only spurred him forward. 

Swiftly, you lifted your hips, guiding Charlie’s length between your folds and sinking down in one sharp thrust that seated your ass comfortably against his thighs. The blood and your first orgasm eased the slide of his dick. Almost immediately you started bouncing in his lap, and he gripped your hips, bursting vessels under the skin. 

One hand traveled up to your back, holding your chests together as the other guided you down, spearing you on his dick and you both moaned at the feel of completeness. 

Your nipples dragged across his as your bodies frantically moved together and the sweet sensation stung his fraying nerves. 

“Charlie,” you sounded just as wrecked as he felt, “Fuck.” 

“I know,” he whispered your name in between the sloppy meeting of your lips, “I know.” 

The room was filled with the most base of animalistic sounds and the wet slap of your cunt on his cock. You were tightening around him and he felt your fingers bury themselves in his hair, tugging his mouth from yours so he was looking you in the eye. The hand on your hip was digging dark bruises into the pliant flesh as you ground against him, breath fanning over his face. 

And this was it. 

This was what it had all been leading up to. 

The rest had just been practice. 

And this was the culmination of everything he’d learned. 

So when you came with a shout of his name, looking him straight in both eyes, he knew you really would be his last. 

There would be no others after this. As much as he had claimed your cunt, your body, you for himself, you owned this pleasure—his pleasure—just as completely. And that alone had him pulsing, coating your walls in thick, hot ropes of him that mixed with the bloody mess coating your bodies and dripped out around the base of his cock. 

The whole time, your eyes never left his for a moment. 

Perpetually looking forward. 

* * *

Charlie’s arm throbbed from under the packs of gauze and ace bandages. It was raining again and the train platform was particularly packed considering it was well past midnight. 

Performances were set to start next weekend and rehearsals had him working till the early hours of the morning, catching trains at ungodly times and stumbling into bed only to rinse and repeat the next day.

He missed you. 

It felt good to admit that. Not shameful or weak. He’d come to terms with the feelings of loss that had formed like a rock in his gut when he slunk from your apartment two weeks ago. Still marked in your blood and tasting you on his lips, Charlie had left you sleeping and stumbled back to his place to shower and make it to the start of dress rehearsals. 

And since then, he hadn’t had a free minute to sneak away. 

It’s not as though he could just shoot you a text the way his intern did constantly at even the simplest of tasks. But the closing wound concealed behind his cardigan and trench coat was a pleasant, if painful reminder of his final hunt. 

He was right, after all. 

If the others were lackluster before he met you, he was entirely disinterested now. 

So he comforted himself by reliving the events that transpired in your room—your voice that he felt more than heard, the cut of the blade, his name caught between your teeth. He took a calming breath, glancing around to clear his head lest he miss the train while caught up in the fantasy of your bare skin on his. 

As the tunnel vibrated and shook with the force of the approaching subway, Charlie gazed across the tracks to the adjacent platform. It was less crowded, not many people taking the southbound lines from this part of the city. He was certain he caught a familiar glimpse of a coat, a wolf’s snarl, two eyes locked on him. But the train blocked his view before he could get a better look. 

Frantically, he boarded the compartment and shouldered his way to the opposite doors and looked out the smudged window. 

His heart stuttered in his chest when he saw you.

Standing relaxed on the filthy green tile, you grinned at him and very suddenly Charlie was no longer bending under the weight of his work. As the train started up again, rushing faster and faster away, he looked for as long as he could at your figure growing smaller until it was swallowed up by the maze of pitch black tunnels. 

With a sigh, Charlie sunk down onto the vacant bench and laid his head in his hands. Though just to hide the sinful smile that graced his lips from any prying eyes. 

You really were a perfect trophy. 

This hunt might be his last, but something told him it would not be ending anytime soon. 

And that was more than enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I had a blast writing this and if you'd like to see more of my work, check out my tumblr @star-killer-md!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, come check me out on tumblr @star-killer-md for more of my writing.


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